From Plants to Ramps by Robin Gorman Newman

What does a day in the life of a “later” mom look like? Depends on the day of the week, but of late in particular, it's jam-packed and not altogether fun.

I feel like a chicken without a head. (A fitting expression.…but where did it come from?!) Jumping from one task to the next, many of which are unrelated, it's a wonder I can track everything. Thankfully, I excel at preparing copious TO DO lists...though in my effort to be organized, sometimes it feels overwhelming. My notes are handwritten. Not in my Blackberry. For me, there is something to be said for the tangibility of paper, even if it involves sporting around a clunky hard covered date book. No way I can be confused with a techie, but it works for me.

That said, one of my fellow “later” mom friends called me last week to touch base. She asked how my day was going.

I told her I was involved with plants and ramps. What? she asked.

It was a true representation of my sandwich generation life.

Though I’m not much of a PTA baby, I decided to join the Plant Sale committee. It is the biggest fundraiser for my son’s elementary school (who knew?!), and despite my not having a particularly green thumb, somehow it called out to me. An email was sent by the committee head to those who expressed interest in serving. There were about 15 names on the list. An initial meeting was planned, and it wound up being just three of us. I was surprised by the lack of present bodies. I was looking forward to a meeting where ideas would be shared. This turned out to be a session reviewing the plant catalog and deciding upon which planters to order. (Are you yawning yet?!) The committee head had already made the decisions for the most part, and was looking for confirmation re: her choices. The next meeting (don't get too excited) will be when the actual plant selection is done. And, I'll be volunteering at the sale itself in May.

Re: the ramp portion of my day. My father recently suffered a stroke and has been in rehab. Anticipating his return home in a couple of weeks, I’ve been conducting meetings with ramp companies to explore the preparation of his ranch house for wheelchair accessibility. In in a short period of time, I’ve learned more about ramps, lifts, etc. that I’ve ever thought necessary. Fortunately in the mix of meetings, a friend recommended a reasonably-priced contractor who proposed the most economical and what seems like the most feasible approach, so I’m grateful to have a direction that feels right.

It’s no surprise that there are nights I don’t sleep well…with visions of plants and ramps swirling through my mind. And, that was just for that particular week.

On any given day, I’m tackling a multitude of projects, not to mention professional pursuits. Can’t say the life of a work at home mom is boring, though choosing planters is a far cry from the career I once had in what feels like a lifetime ago….working as a public relations professional in NYC….the Vice President of a mid sized firm. (I later went on to open my own PR practice.)

I know that on the professional front there are exciting things ahead, but personally, a midlife mom's gotta do what she's gotta do, even if it means deliberating about wood vs. metal and hibiscus vs. herbs.

What do you have on your personal plate that isn't as exciting as you wish? Do share.....

Blink of an Eye by Robin Gorman Newman

                      
My father (above) had a stroke over a week ago, and his life changed in a flash, as did mine. In that moment, more than ever, I became acutely aware of the challenges of being a later in life mother with a young child and senior father.

G-d bless my dad. He's 93. My son is 8. I'm 51. Not the easiest of ages for any of us.

Despite the stroke, at 93, my dad hasn't for a long time felt as he'd like to. I've long tried to explain to him that I doubt anyone at 90+ feels as they'd like to, but that's never been comforting to him.

At 51, I'm in the throes of peri-menopause, and that's enough to wreak havoc on anyone.

My son, at 8, isn't little anymore but isn't grown either. He yearns to exude independence yet waivers at moments like bedtime when he asks his dad to lay with him as he falls asleep. I don't want him to grow up too quickly...though we are all aging as the clock ticks rapidly away.

Living in the moment is so key, and that's particularly evident in hindsight.

It took just seconds for my dad to lose much of his long term memory and suffer major language challenges. As bad as it is, it could have been SO much worse, and I'm grateful he didn't go down the path of major physical disability.

He'll get speech therapy, and even if his communication remains compromised, he can live a quality life. He may no longer be able to share the stories of days gone by that engaged so many. He loved to talk about growing up with famed (now deceased) ballplayer Phil Rizutto, and proudly wore a t-shirt I made up for his 90th birthday saying I PLAYED BALL WITH PHIL RIZUTTO. It was a great conversation opener when he wore it to his local pool club or on our annual family vacation to Mohonk Mountain House in New Paltz. Now having a conversation for my father isn't second nature.

My dad, despite his many surgeries over the years, was somewhat of a medical marvel. When he'd meet with a doctor and they asked his health history, he could describe in copious detail what surgery he had, when and where, with exact precision. Even I can't do that. I never could. But, it came with ease to my dad. Those days are over.

When he first stroked he was calling everybody Robin. It struck me as curious. At our initial meeting with the neurologist, I was in a room full of Robins...only they were my sister Barbara and Brother-in-Law Terry. I had to identify myself to the doctor as the "real" Robin." It would have been comical if the situation weren't so serious.

Seth, my son, has been a trooper. He, too, became Robin, during a visit with grandpa. He's been my tower of strength, in addition to my husband, and close friends. Seth has always had an innate sensibility and awareness of knowing how to reach out to people when they need it the most. And, he manages to do it with a maturity beyond his years. After my first visit with my dad following the stroke, I put on a brave face in his house, assisting him and his aide, but once Seth and I stepped outside and walked back to the car, I lost it.. I needed to cry, and a flood of tears consumed me. In that moment, Seth reached out and assured me that grandpa would be ok....that everything would be ok...and I believe he believed it. I was so touched by his depth of compassion and ability to put aside whatever he felt to be present for me.

I am so grateful for Seth. He touches my heart in a way I never knew a child could. And, I'm so glad he's cultivated a relationship with my father that hopefully will live on forever.

My beloved mother passed away over 10 years ago due to complications from a major stroke, and it was a tragic death in a sterile hospital room. We weren't by her bedside at the time. She was all alone. A stroke is something I've always found so unbelievably cruel. Not that cancer isn't. But, a stroke is immediately life-altering, and it's just a question of to what extent.

I'm hopeful that my dad's situation will improve over time, and that G-d willing there won't be any repeat episodes, due to preventative medication measures. I treasure having my father in my life, and the last thing I want is for him to suffer greatly. No one deserves that, and certainly not a man who has done his best to be a caring father all these years. As a parent, no one is perfect, and I recognize that. But, he's my dad...the only dad I'll ever have....and he'll always have a place in my heart....even if I'm not the only Robin to him.